


They aren't even my cats

by Codango



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Artists, Awkward Flirting, Cats, Clubbing, DJ Otabek Altin, Dirty Dancing, First Kiss, First Meetings, Height Differences, Kittens, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 14:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9444425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Codango/pseuds/Codango
Summary: Yuuri rolled his eyes, despite blushing like the virgin he totally was not, and slid onto a chair at Yuri’s hightop. “I tried to tell him we didn’t need to check the guy out just because he’s adopting one of your kittens,” Yuuri said.“They’re not my kittens,” Yuri insisted again. “Victor just wanted to take you dancing.”“He is luscious when he dances!” Victor gushed.“You think I’m luscious all the time.” Yuuri leaned across the table to flirt with his husband. Shameful. Who did that? You got married, you were supposed to lose all interest, everyone knew that.“Oh my god.” Yuri shoved at them both. “Go fuck on the dance floor if that’s what you came for, Christ.”“Yurio! The things you say.” Victor clucked his tongue.Yuuri eased away from the table and flashed Yuri a teasing smirk. “We need to check out this DJ anyway. Make sure he’s okay for Yurio’s...cats.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is for an Anon prompt: "Shut up and get off the dance floor!"

Yuri set his charcoal down and stretched his arms overhead. Damn, he was on fire today. Yakov wasn’t going to know what hit him. Yuri was going to stroll right into his trendy little gallery with his commission _a whole day before it was due_. The old man’s jaw was going to hit the floor.

The thought was so gratifying, Yuri flashed his finished piece the bird. “Ha! Take _that._ Yeah.” He flicked his leopard-print hoodie, never minding the charcoal fingerprints. “ _You_ , my friend, are gonna get blasted with fixative, and tomorrow...” He lifted the hand-laid paper from the easel with reverent fingertips. “...you are gonna start flirting with people who have money.”

The sun was shining through his studio windows. The light had been perfect that morning, going a long way toward helping him hit his deadline. No doubt it would be highlighting the mountains just right by now. He’d spray the piece outside. Yuri grabbed the fixative on his way out the front door. Nice spring day, no sense fumigating the studio when he could do it outside—

“What _the fuck._ ”

A couple of girls with backpacks and hiking boots and beanies that were too hot for a late-spring hike in the Rockies looked up at him. They were crouched around a box just outside his studio door. “Oh, hey, man!” One of them stood and pointed at the box. “Looks like someone left you a present!”

Yuri scowled. College kids in Colorado Springs to hike. They never bought art. He glared down at the box. And felt his face freeze.

Three kittens slept in an orange, black, and gray ball on a wadded-up T-shirt. One of them flicked an ear and yawned, showing off needle-fine teeth and the pinkest little tongue Yuri had ever seen.

“Did you guys leave them here?” he asked.

Something in his hoarse growl made both girls whip their heads up. “Dude,” one of them said slowly, “we’re going _hiking._ ”

“Yeah, we didn’t, like, stop in town to drop off a box of cats.” The other girl snorted a laugh.

“Then get lost. They’re not fuckin’ toys.” He stepped closer to the box, and the girls hurried to get out of his way. “I gotta figure out what to do with these thanks to whatever asshole left ‘em here.”

He got a couple of middle fingers for his trouble, but they left, thank god. Heaving a put-upon a sigh, Yuri put his finished charcoal piece back inside his studio along with the fixative spray. Yakov didn’t need it until tomorrow. He could handle this first.

He went back outside and squatted in front of the box. The little black one was eyeing him sleepily. The other two were still out. “Who’d do this to you guys, huh?” Yuri asked quietly. They couldn’t have been here long—

“Hey—are you leaving those there?”

Yuri looked over his shoulder, ready to snap another head off, but whatever was queueing up on his tongue died a swift death.

The man was compact, composed of efficient muscle, a sick navy-blue leather jacket, and an undercut. He watched Yuri with stern dark eyes. “Take ‘em to a shelter, don’t do that.”

Yuri felt his scowl come back full force. He opened his mouth to protest that this wasn’t _his_ fault _, he_ certainly wasn’t abusive to animals...unfortunately, the man chose that moment to start taking off his motorcycle gloves.

“Um.” Yuri ran his eyes over the guy before he realized what he was doing. Tight jeans, combat boots...the T-shirt underneath the jacket hinted at elements that Yuri might, in more ideal circumstances and with proper persuasion, find marginally interesting.

The guy shoved his gloves in his back pocket. “How high are you right now?”

Yuri shot to his feet. He was somewhat gratified to discover that, while this guy probably had him by a few pounds, Yuri was definitely taller. “I’m sober as a brick,” he snapped. “Someone just dumped them here. This is my shop.” He waved a hand.

“Oh.” The guy smiled, brief but friendly. “Sorry for getting it wrong.” He held out a hand, now devoid of leather gloves. “Otabek Altin.”

Yuri’s mouth went dry. “Yuri, um, Plisetsky.” He wiped his hand on his jeans and then reached out.

“Ah, you, uh, you’ve got...” Otabek gestured at Yuri’s jeans.

“Wh—” _Hell._ A handprint, perfectly picked out in charcoal, decorated Yuri’s right thigh. He glared at his hands. Both of them were coated generously in the black dust inevitable after hours of working. He probably even had some on his face _._

“So, um.” Otabek gestured at the box. “You got a plan for these little guys?”

“I was figuring it out.” Yuri was pissed.

“Hm.” Otabek knelt on one knee in front of the box and reached a hand inside. “Aw, the orange one’s friendly.”

Yuri was grateful the man’s back was to him. If Otabek’s thighs were impressive just _standing_ in his jeans, seeing the way his muscles tested the manufacturing quality of the seams as he knelt was an otherworldly experience. And he was cooing over a literal box of kittens. Yuri needed a minute.

“Oh, look at the gray one!” Otabek murmured, lifting the kitten out of the box.

Yuri was furious. Who even was this guy? Dropping out of the goddamned blue sky right in front of Yuri’s _studio,_ when he had a _deadline,_ to lecture him about the welfare of _cats?_ Yuri hadn’t dated in a long-ass while, but if the universe thought he needed to get out more, then the universe needed to work on its fucking subtlety.

“Look, dude,” Yuri began, “I appreciate the concern, but I gotta—”

“I want this one.”

Yuri’s bitching died with a gurgle. Otabek turned slightly, holding the black kitten to his leather jacket. “That cool?”

In case the universe was taking requests, Yuri sent up a prayer that this image be branded into his memory for life. A hot biker was kneeling on the sidewalk where Yuri lived and breathed and worked, holding a tiny kitten to his chest.

“You...you want a cat?” Yuri sounded breathless even to his own ears.

“I’ve been thinking about it.” Otabek stood, the ball of black fur _meep_ ing into his chest. He opened his jacket and tucked it inside even though it wasn’t that cold out. “Either a cat or a hamster.”

Yuri wrinkled his nose. “A hamster?” Who in their right mind would consider a goddamn rodent over a cat? Ancient civilizations _worshipped_ cats. Who the fuck knew what anyone ever thought of hamsters.

“A friend of mine really likes them,” Otabek went on, not looking up from the kitten putting tiny claw marks in his T-shirt. “But this seems like a sign, so.”

“So.” Yuri shook himself. “Yeah, I guess, if you want it, go ahead and—”

“Oh, shit _._ ”

Yuri blinked. Otabek was frowning at the kitten.

“Um, look.” Otabek turned toward Yuri with a sheepish expression. “This is kind of awkward, but...”

 _Yes, I will marry you._ “What’s up?” Cool. Noncommittal. Completely not interested.

“It’s not very professional of me, but I kind of forgot I have a gig in a few hours,” Otabek said hesitantly.

“A...gig?”

“Yeah, I’m DJing at a new place in a couple hours. The Ice Castle?” He looked a little embarrassed. “Would you...ah.” He opened his jacket to glance down at the kitten inside. It _meep_ ed. “I don’t suppose you could keep an eye on him?”

Yuri knew he should react somehow. _He’s a DJ? He wears leather, loves cats, and he’s a fucking DJ._

“I could come back and pick him up right after the show,” Otabek hurried on. “Except I guess that might be a little late.”

“No problem,” Yuri heard himself say. _The fuck you mean it’s not a problem?!_ “I gotta figure out what to do with the other two, so.” He shrugged, when what he meant to say was _I got shit to do, you’re not the only one with commitments here, pal!_ “When do you think you’ll be done?” _He’s a DJ! It’s Friday! When do you_ think _he’ll be done?!_

“Probably not till two.” Otabek appeared to wilt. “This is a dumb idea, I can’t ask you to hold one of them for me that long.” He looked... _sad._

“Shut up and give me your cat.” Yuri held out his hands. “Pick him up tomorrow, after you’ve got, like, food and shit for him.”

Otabek’s eyes lit up, and it was godawful. Yuri bit the inside of his mouth to keep from offering to go to the pet store with him. “Right! Yes. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense.” His smile was small, but it managed to convey a ridiculous amount of happiness. He opened his coat and handed Yuri the black kitten.

Yuri cleared his throat when their fingers touched. “Yeah, well.” He tucked the kitten under his chin. The little bastard was warm. And smelled like leather. _Damn._

Otabek was still smiling at the darn thing. Which meant he was almost smiling at Yuri. “Cool.” Otabek’s voice was low and warm. He reached out and ran a finger over the kitten’s delicate spine, earning a squeak. Yuri couldn’t have sworn that it was from the cat and not his own mouth.

Otabek straightened and backed up a couple steps. “See you tomorrow. Yuri, right? Nine o’clock?”

“We’ll be here.” He lifted the kitten’s tiny paw in a salute. And wanted to stab himself with a fork. _Why, Yuri. Just why._

Otabek laughed and walked away with a wave.

* * *

 

“They’re not _my_ cats, I just have them here while I figure out what to do with them!” Yuri sat back on his hand, watching the orange kitten play with the laces of his Converse. “I can’t just leave ‘em outside.”

All three kittens were in various stages of exploring his tiny room behind his studio. He rented the studio space with three other artists, but he’d shelled out a little extra to keep the room in the back for himself. It was enough for a mattress and a hot plate that he was anal about triple-checking. And, for at least one night, three kittens.

“In that case, I’ll take them all,” Victor said breezily. Like he was at Tiffany’s standing over a case of diamonds or something.

“ _No_ , you can’t have them all, you guys have Makkachin!” Yuri lifted his foot so the orange kitten had a more interesting toy from his dangling shoelaces. “And someone wants one of them anyway.”

“Oh? You found takers already? So organized, Yurio!”

“It was just some guy who was in the right place at the right time.” Yuri was glad Victor was on the other end of the phone line instead of in the same room. Yuri was trying to be better about cultivating relationships with his buyers—Victor had called to commission _another_ portrait of his husband—but Yuri wasn’t ready to analyze his love life in the name of networking.

Yakov had hinted that networking was important, rather forcefully, after Yuri bit the heads off a wealthy couple who’d purchased one of his larger pieces.

“But you still have all three kittens in the studio at the moment?” Victor sounded confused.

“Yeah, well, he’s DJing tonight and asked if I could—”

“He’s a _DJ?_ ” Victor’s voice conveyed gleeful blue eyes and a brain already selecting a pair of leather pants.

“No. No, he’s a...banker. Working very late hours. We are not going to his club, Victor, _no_.”

“Yurio! That is an _excellent_ idea, I’ll get Yuuri pulled together, and we’ll meet you there.”

“Are you out of your—you don’t even know where he’s playing!”

“Oh, yes, of course, darling, where’s he playing? We probably can’t meet you before eleven.” There was a small groan in the background. Victor’s voice came through the line a little fainter, as though he’d held the phone away. “What’s that, my love? Here, it’s fine, you know you can take it out whenever you want— _Yuuri!_ You can’t do that _now_ , I’m on the phone!— _godddd,_ you just give me two seconds and then _you_ —”

“Still on the phone, Victor!” Yuri called, eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh...” Victor’s voice sounded closer to the phone, and rather more breathless than he had seconds earlier. “ _Uh-mm_ , Yuuri says we probably can’t make it much before— _ah_ —m-midnight if that’s all right.”

“Fine. Yes, augh, just don’t ever call me again when you guys are...just no.” Yuri remembered to shout, “It’s at the Ice Castle!” right before he threw his phone across the room.

* * *

 

What _ever_ Victor and Yuuri had been involved in, it must have been particularly engaging. They didn’t make it to the club until 1:00 a.m., leaving Yuri plenty of time to drink himself into a frustrated little stupor.

Frustrated for a number of reasons.

A, Ice Castle was a stupid name for a club.

B, Yuri hated clubs in _general_.

C, Yuri hated clubs when he was at them alone because he attracted on average one unwanted drink per half hour.

D, Otabek was sweaty.

E, Otabek’s T-shirt still had little cat-claw holes in the chest _and_ it was sweaty.

F, Otabek had barely looked up from his decks once, and it wasn’t to look at Yuri.

G, Otabek had, in fact, looked up to say thank you to a sexy cocktail waitress bringing him a bottle of water.

H, Otabek drinking from said bottle of water was downright—

“ _There_ you are, darling, we’ve been looking everywhere!”

Yuri looked up from pouting into his drink to scowl at Victor. “Fuck off, you just got here.”

Victor put a hand to his silk shirt, affronted, while Yuuri rolled his eyes and gave an embarrassed smile. “You can’t possibly know that,” Victor insisted loftily.

“I do when you waltz in with _him_ looking like _that_.” Victor had obviously made an effort, but Yuuri had an almost magical way of maintaining an air of debauchery. It was always painfully apparent, from his blissed-out glow and the unapologetic hickies dotting his neck and chest, whenever he and Victor had gotten too enamored with each other.

Victor turned to Yuuri with a sigh. “He’s right, my love. You look gorgeous.” He picked up his husband’s hand and kissed it.

Yuuri rolled his eyes, despite blushing like the virgin he totally was _not_ , and slid onto a chair at Yuri’s hightop. “I tried to tell him we didn’t need to check the guy out just because he’s adopting one of your kittens,” Yuuri said.

“They’re not _my_ kittens,” Yuri insisted again. “Victor just wanted to take you dancing.”

“He is _luscious_ when he dances!” Victor gushed.

“You think I’m luscious all the time.” Yuuri leaned across the table to flirt with his husband. Shameful. Who did that? You got married, you were supposed to lose all interest, everyone knew that.

“Oh my god.” Yuri shoved at them both. “Go fuck on the dance floor if that’s what you came for, Christ.”

“Yurio! The things you say.” Victor clucked his tongue.

Yuuri eased away from the table and flashed Yuri a teasing smirk. “We need to check out this DJ anyway. Make sure he’s okay for Yurio’s... _cats._ ”

Victor’s eyes lit up. “Love of my life, you’re a _genius._ ”

“He is not!” Yuri called after them both as they disappeared into the flashing lights and fog machines. “And they aren’t my cats!”

One more drink in, Yuri was pretty sure he should just go. Victor and Yuuri popped over to the table occasionally for a sip of the cocktails they were never going to finish, but they didn’t need him to stay.

He caught a glimpse of them, laughing and grinding on each other and sharing sloppy kisses on the floor. They weren’t here to keep _him_ company, even if they didn’t realize it.

Victor threw his head back for a long, happy laugh.

Yeah. Yuri should just go.

But even as he tried to flag down his server to pay his tab, he saw Victor and Yuuri dance farther into the crowd. Seconds later, they reappeared at the DJ booth.

 _Oh shit. Oh no. Oh LORD._ Yuri was helpless to look away.

Victor took out a twenty and waved it at Otabek— _Christ_ —but Yuuri put a hand on his arm and scolded him. Otabek slid his headphones off one ear with the polite smile of a professional entertainer.

Victor gestured wildly. Yuuri shushed him and appeared to clarify something. Otabek blinked and looked out over the crowd, into the flashing lights.

Yuri sat motionless at his table. There was no way Otabek could see him. He would slink out into the night and claim no knowledge of Ice Castle’s existence should anyone ever ask.

Otabek held up a finger, the universal hang-on gesture, and flipped a few switches on his deck. He hung up his headphones and—Yuri’s heart was in his throat—followed Victor and Yuuri into the crowded dance floor. Only Otabek came out on the other side.

He approached Yuri’s hightop with a small smile. His collarbone was shiny with sweat underneath the stretched T-shirt neck. “Yuri.” He had to shout a little over the music. “Your friends told me you wanted to check out the new place before I got to have my cat.”

Yuri closed his eyes. Victor and Yuuri were going to pay out the nose for their next commission. “This was entirely their idea.” It was definitely only because of the music that he raised his voice. “I had nothing to do with anything.”

Otabek’s smile faltered. “Oh. How did they know about my cat?”

 _His cat._ He had no business being so hellishly charming. “It’s...a long story.” Yuri threw back the last of his drink. “Anyway, they just wanted an excuse to have fully clothed sex on a dance floor. I’m just gonna cash out—”

“No.” Otabek waved a hand. “No, you’re giving me a free cat. I’ll buy your drinks.”

Yuri stared. “I had _four_ drinks tonight. The cats were in my possession for thirty seconds before you said you wanted one.”

Otabek glanced thoughtfully at the ceiling. “You’re right. I owe you a dance too.”

Yuri’s heart slammed into the roof of his mouth. “ _They’re not even my cats!_ ”

Otabek turned away from the table, his hand held out to Yuri, the tiniest smirk on his face.

“You’re the DJ,” Yuri tried, his voice weak. _Damn,_ he looked too good in those jeans.

“I’ve got time.” His long black hair lay in spikes across his forehead. He was backing into the crowd slowly, holding Yuri’s gaze with those serious dark eyes. Giving him time to figure out what he wanted to do.

Fuck it, he knew what he wanted to do. He knew it was very dumb—he’d known of this guy’s existence for less than twelve hours. He knew it was inefficient—he needed to get his latest piece to Yakov’s gallery first thing in the morning.

Yuri followed him onto the dance floor.

Otabek actually showed teeth when he smiled.

Yuri was confident in his dancing skills. He could move, and he wasn’t ashamed to show off. Hell, he’d taken _Yuuri_ on once, and even though Victor was biased as hell and said Yuuri had won, Yuri knew he’d given him a run for his money.

Of course, Yuri hadn’t danced like...well, it’s not like he’d been trying to _impress_ anyone, and...well, Otabek made it very...

Otabek kept his hands to himself. Yuri could barely believe it, with how close he was and how his shoulders rolled and how he was _taking Yuri mentally apart_ , that Otabek hadn’t touched him once. After a few minutes, his T-shirt was soaked, but Yuri wasn’t in any state to congratulate himself on being right about Otabek’s build. His chest was sinful, broad and thick where Yuri was lean and narrow. He’d never be able to look like that, not in a million years and a thousand protein shakes.

The beat slowed, and Yuri glanced up at the decks. A tall man with bleached hair and a five o’clock shadow had picked up Otabek’s headphones and was bobbing his head to the new rhythm. He caught Yuri’s eye and gave him a slow, salacious wink.

Yuri gulped and whipped his head around to take in the man whose knee was sliding in between his thighs. “Sh-shouldn’t you—ah, the music?” Words were leaving his brain, and nothing was replacing them. His jeans caught on Otabek’s belt buckle, and Yuri bit his tongue. In fact, all systems seemed to be sending resources south.

“I get a break.” Something shifted in Otabek’s eyes, and he pulled back a little. All Yuri’s systems whined. “But we can stop, of course.”

Yuri reached out both hands, slid them through Otabek’s sweaty hair and down his neck. Cupping the tense muscle on top of his shoulders and pulling him close again. Yuri’s face was hot, and he didn’t know what to say to be seductive, welcoming, convey _all the yes._

“You haven’t finished paying me for your cat.”

Otabek’s eyes went wide. Then he laughed, and Yuri wanted badly to know what it might sound like without being half drowned by Top Forty music. Otabek’s hands settled on Yuri’s hips, warm and strong and firm, and Yuri was pretty sure he was going to be a permanent shade of pink from now on.

“I’m taking the cat home,” Otabek murmured, looking up at him. “So.” He lifted his chin, slowly, giving Yuri plenty of time to back away.

“Yeah,” was all Yuri said before his mouth found Otabek’s.

The kiss was soft at first. Nothing more than a few light touches as they moved to the beat around them. Otabek kept them close with a tight grip on Yuri’s belt loops. It was either the four cocktails or Otabek’s knee between his thighs that made Yuri move his own thigh up carefully. Carefully, into the fly of those tight jeans that had been so _problematic_ all day long.

Otabek’s breath stuttered against his mouth, his hips lifting away at first, but Yuri didn’t have time to be worried if he’d fucked up. With a groan, Otabek widened his stance and sank back down on Yuri’s thigh. One hand left Yuri’s waist and buried itself in his hair. He’d put it in a bun before he came to the club, but Yuri could feel pieces of his blond hair escaping.

Yuri gripped the back of Otabek’s neck, trying to act like he was still the one seducing and not being hopelessly seduced. Ran his other hand down Otabek’s throat to settle on his chest, hot and solid beneath his palm.

 _Ask him to come over._ Yuri pressed his lips to Otabek’s cheekbone, then his forehead. _Tell him you want him to come over._

The beat dropped as Yuri rolled his hips up, and Otabek groaned, pulling Yuri’s mouth back to his with a strong hand in his hair. It was heady, this hint of manhandling from a guy who was shorter than he was but could probably benchpress him a dozen times. Yuri lifted his head, gasped, “H-hey...do you—?”

“Yurio!” A scandalized gasp sounded at his ear, and Yuri wished to all the depths of hell he didn’t recognize the voice.

“ _Victor_ ,” he growled and turned toward his (previously favorite) buyer. He and Yuuri were hanging on each other scant inches from Yuri and Otabek. Otabek’s hands fell to Yuri’s waist again, and he dismounted Yuri’s thigh, smiling at their intruders.

“Break’s over,” he announced, like they hadn’t just been interrupted from grinding on each other in the middle of a crowded dance floor. Yuri wanted to scream. He wanted to punch Victor and flip off Yuuri and _then_ scream. He hadn’t been laid in...well, a _very long time_ thanks to Yakov’s ridiculous schedule, and here was someone hot and kind _who liked cats_ and seemed willing to consider Yuri as a sexual option, and it was all going right down the drain.

Otabek rose on his toes for half a second, just long enough to brush a quick kiss on Yuri’s cheek. It was precious and lovely and Yuri no longer wanted to punch people.

“Tomorrow at nine?” Otabek waited until Yuri gave a dazed nod before he smiled his tiny smile. “Cool. See you then.”

Yuri stared after him, mouth agape, as Otabek took over his decks once again.

“Oooooo.” Victor pressed against Yuri’s side, hearts in his eyes. “He was _cccuuuuttte!”_

“Yeah, you didn’t-didn’t say how cute he was!” Yuuri slurred. It never ceased to be amazing, how quickly Yuuri could get drunk and how long he could stay upright.

“You’re going to ask him out, right?” Victor asked. “It’s been so long, Yurio, you even said, you told me ages ago, you said, _Victor_ , I need to get laid, Victor, who can I get to fuck me? and I said—”

“I did not! I would never _in a hundred thousand goddamn fucking years tell you that,_ you are drunker than sin, get your husband together, go home, I’m going home! _”_

“And _then_ you said—”

“ _Shut up and get off the dance floor!_ ”

* * *

 

Yuri set his alarm for eight o’clock. It was completely unnecessary. The kittens got him up at seven. With only minimal cursing (they were too cute to be believed, even crawling over his comforter and yowling to wake the dead), Yuri rolled off his mattress. He shuffled to the corner of his room that had been overtaken with cat stuff since yesterday afternoon.

After lecturing Otabek about needing proper supplies before assuming the mantle of kitten ownership, Yuri had done some shopping himself. The three kittens fell over themselves to chow down from their shared bowl. They only tipped their water dish over once in the mayhem, which Yuri thought deserved praise.

He lost himself in the peacefulness of watching them. The orange one was clearly the boss. The black one tried to be but frankly wasn’t organized enough to be much threat. The gray one might be the smartest? She seemed to be willing to let the other two duke things out while she ate the lion’s share of their food.

_Ping!_

Yuri’s head snapped up. “Ohhhhhh _fuck!_ ” He scrambled to his feet, tripping over himself to get to his closet. Ten minutes. Otabek was going to be in here in _ten minutes_ to get his cat (which one was it? The black one, right?), and Yuri was sitting on his bedroom floor shirtless in his boxers.

Ideal someday perhaps, but a bit forward for their second meeting. (The club did not count, Yuri refused to believe it counted. He’d been a little drunk, and Otabek had been _working_ , and anyway Yuri didn’t dry hump strangers on dance floors. He was a serious artist, for fuck’s sake.)

He was just putting his hair in a ponytail when someone knocked at his door.

“Yuri?” It was Mila. Mila was always the first one working in the studio.

Yuri blew out a steadying breath and opened the door. Mila already had a dash of Titanium White drying on her cheek. She should really be more careful. “Someone’s asking for you?” Mila gestured with her thumb over her shoulder, eyes alight with curiosity.

Otabek was doing a superb job of being interested in the multitude of works in progress throughout the studio. Yuri could almost have believed he had just wandered in for a look—but then dark eyes cut over to where he and Mila stood. Yuri inhaled sharply. “Yeah, um...he’s here for one of the, the cats. Hey! Otabek!”

Mila stood reluctantly aside as Yuri waved at the gorgeous man walking toward them. “You owe me every explanation,” she whispered before ducking back to her easel.

“You have paint on your face!” Yuri hissed after her. He ran a hand nervously through his ponytail, and then Otabek was in front of him.

“Good morning.” Otabek did not look like the sort of person who’d probably been up till 4:00 a.m. He looked fresh-faced and clean in a soft, dark-blue sweater and tight jeans ( _again_ ). Not even a hint of scruff.

“M-morning.” Yuri backed away from the door gracelessly. “Um, everyone’s in here. The cats, I mean, you know, they’re all...”

_Right there on my unmade mattress. On the floor._

They were adorable, no question. They’d roughhoused themselves to sleep in the middle of his dingy comforter. It was just that...wow, Yuri, you couldn’t have gotten your shit together enough to buy a bed frame in the last twelve months?

“You wanted the black one, right?” Yuri hurried over to the pile of fur on his bed and gently picked up the appropriate kitten.

Otabek’s mouth was open a little. He ran his eyes over Yuri, from his hair to his bare feet, bringing his attention finally to the kitten in his hands. He cleared his throat. “Yeah.” He came forward a few steps, closing the distance between them. Reached out his hand to scratch beneath the kitten’s chin.

Yuri was going to die for the second time in two days. The third time? It was tough to keep track. Otabek smelled amazing. Yuri was horrifically conscious that they were in his very tiny living space that he only ever haphazardly cleaned. He doubted it smelled amazing. The most he could hope for was that it smelled like cat food and not Young Man Has Lived Here By Himself For A Year.

“Thanks for holding onto him for me,” Otabek said. His voice was low and quiet. Just right for a man who liked cats. Yuri melted.

“Any time. Well, not, you know _any_ time, because this had better never happen again—” Yuri caught himself. “I mean! Not that you coming over had better never—! I meant, you know, the _cats_.” Oh god, just kill him now.

Otabek laughed softly and eased the sleepy black kitten from Yuri’s hands. Yuri made sure their fingers brushed. Those hands had held him last night, and they hadn’t been nearly so gentle about things.

“I got up early today and got a bunch of stuff,” Otabek said, unaware of Yuri’s moral crisis. “I have a cat carrier out in the car too.”

“You have a car?” Yuri grimaced at his own question. “I mean, I dunno why I thought you only had your bike.”

“Figured a motorcycle wouldn’t be great for bringing a cat home.” Otabek was smiling at the kitten, cradling it against his chest. “I borrowed a friend’s car.”

_So thoughtful._

“You got a name for him?” Yuri asked quietly, afraid to break the peaceful spell of the room.

“Mm, not yet.” Otabek smoothed a finger down the kitten’s nose. “Gotta see how he acts, you know? Find out who he is.”

Yuri wanted to find out who Otabek was. In every situation possible. And he was fast realizing that as soon as this guy walked out his door with that cat, Yuri had no way to do that. No right to even ask for a phone number.

He trailed his eyes over those shoulders under that sweater. Remembered how those thighs had felt between his last night.

_Fuck. That._

“Here.” Yuri pulled his phone out of his back pocket, hoping he sounded smooth. “Lemme give you my number in case you need anything. For the cat.”

Otabek was silent. Yuri didn’t look up, opening the contacts on his phone, trying not to panic.

“Yeah,” Otabek finally said. “Yeah, I don’t really know much about cats.”

“Right? And they’re so young still, you gotta be careful.” Yuri felt flooded with relief. “Um, so...?” He held up his phone.

Otabek smiled, that tiny smile Yuri dreamed about last night, and gave him his number. Yuri tapped out a text immediately.

Otabek reached for his own phone when the message chimed through. He raised an eyebrow as he read it. “‘Send me pics’?”

Heat rushed to Yuri’s cheeks. “That’s-that’s not what I meant! I meant, of the cat! The fuck you thought I was talking about, it’s just that they’re practically _my_ cats...”

Otabek stepped forward, the kitten cradled carefully in one hand, and reached for the back of Yuri’s neck. Pulled him forward. Planted the most chaste kiss of all time on his cheek. “Pics,” he said, clearly holding back laughter. “You got it.”

Yuri was certain his face didn’t stop burning for hours. Not when he walked Otabek to his car. Not when Otabek settled his new black cat in a hot-pink cat carrier. Not when he took his finished piece over to Yakov’s gallery later.

And certainly, certainly not in the wee hours of the morning, when the studio was locked and dark and Yuri was snuggling into his comforter with an orange and a gray kitten. Because that was when his phone lit up.

_**Otabek:** Pics, hm?_

_**Otabek:** [image]_

 

**Author's Note:**

> First YOI fic!
> 
> [@codango](http://codango.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr
> 
> [Marcella Christie](http://marcellachristie.com/) for my alter ego


End file.
